Tiles of Monsters: A Composition Only You Can Understand

In my studio, we don’t start with beauty.

We start with monsters.

Not the kind from fairy tales —

but the ones we carry in silence.

Regret. Fear. Guilt. Choices. Shadows.

Each participant in my workshop is invited to lay down tiles —

each one representing a feeling, a memory, a moment.

A monster of their own making.

The result looks like a mosaic —

but it is not made for decoration.

It is a personal composition of experience.

And here’s the truth:

The final image means nothing to the outside world.

Only the one who laid the tiles knows what it truly says.

It is their private choreography of choices.

Their emotional map.

As an art therapist, I don’t interpret.

I don’t correct.

I don’t judge.

I won’t tell them what I see.

I’ll only ask open-ended questions.

Soft invitations like:

“What does this piece remind you of?” “Where would you place this in your life timeline?” “Is there a sound or word that goes with this tile?” “If this monster could speak, what would it say?”

My job is not to name their monsters —

but to help them hear what the monsters are whispering.

In this process, healing doesn’t come from fixing the tiles.

It comes from recognizing them.

From saying: “Yes, I did this. I survived this. This is part of me.”

And eventually —

from understanding that even monsters,

once seen and spoken to,

lose their power

.

☕ Coffee, Tarot, and the Monsters

I’ve spent years experimenting with fortune-telling in Turkish coffee grounds.

Not professionally — but with deep curiosity and reverence.

The shapes, the silence, the stories hidden in the residue…

They always spoke louder than the words around the cup.

I see a quiet similarity here.

In both practices — whether tiling monsters or reading coffee —

meaning reveals itself only to the one ready to receive it.

And the role of the witness is not to declare, but to ask gently:

“What does this image mean to you?”

The project, Monzart, draws inspiration from tarot cards,

another deeply symbolic system —

where archetypes and stories guide us toward self-reflection.

Each tile placed is like a card drawn from an unseen deck,

a moment waiting to be understood, not from the outside, but from within.

*After the Coffee: Playing with Monzart

After we’ve shared a warm Turkish coffee —

after the grounds settle and the cup cools —

we switch roles.

Now, you become the fortune-teller.

But not through the cup.

You’ll create your own composition using Monzart:

a 6×6 grid of symbolic monster tiles.

Each tile carries a feeling, a story, a weight.

You arrange them — your way. In silence or in laughter.

And once your grid is complete…

you read it to me.

Just like I showed you the cup,

now you’ll show me the monsters.

“This one’s me in the morning.” “This one is someone I don’t talk to anymore.” “This is a wound. This is a gate. This is a mask.” “This is someone I miss.”

There are no wrong answers.

Only meaning, rising in its own rhythm.

In this ritual, art and coffee blend.

Roles dissolve.

We don’t just create —

we witness each other.